


Doctor

by lateralus112358



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 10:39:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16303592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lateralus112358/pseuds/lateralus112358
Summary: A mildly deranged woman in a blue box bothers a doctor





	Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> I've been catching up on Doctor Who lately.

There are a lot of advantages to working the hospital’s night shift. Patient cases tend to be a lot more interesting, since for some reason the drug addicts and criminals only come to the hospital at night. The commute is beautifully empty. There are less people around the hospital, whether coworkers who for some reason feel a shared occupation is an invitation to conversation, or families of patients who make it their business to complain about everything a doctor does to save their undeserving relatives. And, as a result of most of the above reasons, the cafeteria is almost always empty, leaving Shaw to eat her 2 AM lunch in peace.

Hubris.

She’s managed to read four pages of her book and finish approximately half of her fries when she hears a lamentably familiar circuitous whooshing sound emitting from the janitor’s closet. Moments later the door swings open and out strolls a tall woman clad in fitted black trousers, a red shirt, and a long, dark blue coat. The coat and her hair struggle in vain to keep up with her as she swooshes across the room and into the seat opposite Shaw. She reaches across the table and flips the container of fries around and pulls several out. Shaw pulls the container back.

The interloper is the first one to break the verbal stalemate. “Long time, Sameen.” 

“I could’ve waited longer.” Shaw returns her attention to her book.

“Well, it was a long time for me, anyway,” Root says, leaning back in her chair, kicking her feet forward so they brush against Shaw’s. “I guess it’s easier for you, since you get to see me all the time.”

“I wouldn’t mind trading,” Shaw says, shooting her hand out and seizing Root’s before it reaches her fries again. “I’m working.”

Root twists her lips and raises her eyebrows in a gesture that suggests a shrug. “Looks like you’re eating.”

“Did you notice this?” Shaw plucks at the sleeves of her scrubs. “Working.”

“I did notice,” Root replies easily, leaning forward and resting her chin in her hands. “You look beautiful.”

“Do you really think that’s going to work on me?” Shaw asks bluntly.

Root grins widely. “Do you really think it isn’t?”

Shaw leans forward. “You’re not nearly as irresistible as you think.”

Root doesn’t pull back or stop smiling. “If you say so, sweetie.” She stands up and walks back towards the closet. “Although,” she says over her shoulder. “ _I_ think you just don’t want to admit how much you want me.”

A return of the whooshing sound announces the woman’s departure, and Shaw resumes her meal, which has gone cold.

***

“Did you know there’s a planet that’s made entirely out of diamond? Nice place for a vacation in the winter.” Root sits on Shaw’s examination table, kicking her legs back and forth, a distracting motion, given that Root has replaced her trousers with a short skirt, and her boots with heels. She has kept the coat, for no immediately discernible reason. “I guess that’s not really your kind of thing, though,” she continues. “We could go see a supernova. Maybe you’d think that’s romantic.”

“Why are you here?” Shaw asks shortly.

“I’m looking for a doctor,” Root smiles. “Give me a checkup?”

“There are other doctors.” Shaw presses a stethoscope to Root’s chest, frowns, and moves it down. “What’s with the new getup?”

“You like it?” Root continues without waiting for a response. “You _did_ say I wasn’t being irresistible enough, so I’m trying something different.”

“It’s not the worst I’ve seen.” Shaw pushes Root down onto the table and applies pressure on her abdomen. “Does this hurt?”

“Not yet. You can try doing it harder if you want.”

Shaw rolls her eyes and removes her hands. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” she says, stepping back.

“So you _do_ like the new look?”

“There’s nothing wrong with you _physically_.”

“That goes for you, too,” Root winks.

“Except you seem to have two hearts.” Shaw continues, ignoring Root’s input.

“And they’re both yours, sweetie.”

“That’s the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard.”

“But you’re still here.”

“You’re in my hospital.”

“True,” Root says. “But there are other doctors. Aren’t there?”

Shaw doesn’t respond.

Root shrugs. “Suit yourself, Sameen.” She hops off of the examination table and saunters out of the room.

***

Shaw finishes a chapter of her book with mild surprise. She usually doesn’t manage that. She stands, stretches, and tosses the debris from her meal into the trash can. She heads for the elevator, but stops before hitting the ‘up’ arrow.

Tonight’s been quiet so far. No new patients to distract her coworkers. If she goes back upstairs someone will just try to talk to her.

She wonders where Root is.

***

The anachronistic, mildly ratty blue construction bearing the words ‘Police public call box’ takes up the majority of the supply closet. Shaw briefly considers that Root might have neglected to bother her tonight because she’s sulking, but then realizes that Root would never sulk without an audience to witness it. She’s probably just lost track of time.

Shaw pulls open one door and steps inside. The interior is many times larger than the exterior, with a vaulted ceiling rising some twenty feet above. The doors lead onto a ring-shaped walkway that extends all the way around the circular chamber, and has several short stairways down to the main platform, in the center of which is a hub of screens and electronics and one mildly deranged woman darting around between them. She’s acquired a black pair of pants, a white shirt, and a loosely hung tie which is presently slung over one shoulder.

“Why aren’t you British?” Shaw asks, taking the steps down and leaning on the main console.

“I’ve missed you, Sameen,” Root says warmly, looking up, each hand typing rapidly on a different keyboard. “Why would an alien be British?”

“You were here yesterday.”

“I just can’t get enough of you. Besides,” she adds, moving to a different section of the console with a twirl that seems to serve no purpose. “It’s been more than a day for me.”

“The ‘police box,’” Shaw says. “It’s a British thing. From about 60 years ago. Why would an alien be American?”

Root shrugs and slides over next to Shaw, hands moving across the console without any apparent direction or attention from their owner. “I guess I thought it suited me.”

“I see you lost the skirt.” Shaw observes.

“Hmm?” Root looks down at herself. “Oh. I don’t remember how that happened.” She considers for a moment. “Things tend to get lost around here.”

Shaw ignores the implication. “If we’re going to go somewhere, you better get moving before I change my mind.”

“Anything for you, Sameen,” Root whirls about the console, flipping switches and hitting keyboards. Shaw’s pretty sure most of it is meaningless and is just supposed to impress her. “Something in particular you want to do? I was thinking a massage might be nice.”

“You have all of time and space and you’d go to a massage parlor?”

“Massage parlor?” Root says, looking surprised. “Sure, I guess we could do it that way.”

Shaw snorts. “Keep dreaming.”

“All right then, let’s try something else.” Root hits another switch and the whole place shudders, the lights inside beginning to flash.

***

The planet’s surface is made up of a sort of dark, mottled green and blue rock. It appears solid, but when stepped on, small upthrusts or formations crush like gravel with a soft sound. The landscape is primarily flat and plains-like, but they’ve come across several large craters, and there are mountains of some sort visible in the distance. The air is breathable, so they don’t need spacesuits, although Shaw had traded her scrubs for some clothes recovered from one of the apparently infinite rooms in the bowels of Root’s police box.

“It’s the early stages of terraforming,” Root remarks, after a long stretch of walking in silence. “Once you humans finally leave Earth, you spread out all over the place.”

“People live here?”

“Not many. Not yet. They send a skeleton crew and machines to get a head start on basic infrastructure before immigration starts.” Root stops walking, and looks over at Shaw. “We could go see the colony, if you want. I thought you might like this better, but…”

“No,” Shaw says, looking up at the unfamiliar sky. It’s nearing dusk and the stars are becoming visible. “This is good.”

“I lived at one of the colonies, once,” Root says offhandedly as they resume walking. “For about fifty years or so.”

“Why?” Shaw squints at a low mountain in the distance. The diminishing light is making them difficult to pick out against the sky.

Root shrugs. “Well, a girl’s got to have fun _somehow_.”

“I don’t think that’s a mountain,” Shaw says, walking more quickly. “It’s getting bigger too fast.”

Upon nearer consideration, the object reveals itself to be a spacecraft of some sort. One that has likely seen better days, if the way it’s laying on its side smoking lightly is any indication. There’s a shallow rut leading from the back of the craft further out into the rocky distance, suggesting a less-than-ideal landing. It’s fairly small, likely used as a landing craft for a larger ship, or a transport over the surface of the planet.

“This one’s vintage,” Root says, trailing her hand along the craft. “They stopped making these sometime in the 26th century.”

“This crash is recent though,” Shaw says. “Unless these things can just leak fuel for centuries.”

“Low-importance planet, maybe,” Root speculates. “Didn’t bother giving the advance team any of the expensive gear.”

“Or the pilot just sucks.” Shaw’s made it to the front of the small craft, and is peering through the fogged windshield. “I think he’s still alive in there. Can you get this open?”

Root pulls her phone from her pocket, holds it flat pointing towards the craft, and begins typing something. With a hiss, the windshield lifts forward, exposing the interior of the craft, and the pilot, hanging sideways strapped into his seat.

“Unhook him,” Shaw instructs, moving forward to support the pilot’s unconscious weight. She grunts slightly as Root finds the release, and drops the man to the ground, not particularly gently.

“Ow,” He says, opening his eyes. “What’d you do that for?”

“Shut up,” Shaw says. “You’re injured.”

“Yeah, no kiddin’. You just threw me on the ground.”

“Shut up,” Shaw repeats. “Root, see if you can find any gauze or something in there.”

“Sure,” Root replies. “What does gauze look like?”

“Seriously? You’re like a thousand years old and you’ve never seen gauze?” 

“I’m a Time Lord, sweetie,” Root replies airily. “We’re a lot less fragile than you humans are.”

“Then why the hell are you always hanging around the hospital? Wait,” Shaw adds as she sees Root’s expression. “Don’t answer that. You’d think you’d have learned something after spending so much time there.”

“You’re kind of distracting, Sameen.”

“Hey,” the pilot says. “Don’t mind me. Just a guy bleedin’ to death here.”

“Quiet or I’ll knock you out again.” Shaw says. Using a knife retrieved from her pocket, she saws off several pieces of the pilot’s suit and begins using them to bind up his wounds. 

“Hell of a bedside manner. Think I’d rather take my chances with the broken ship.”

***

“Is that what you needed a doctor for?” Shaw asks, as Root pulls a lever and the lights inside the police box begin to flash again. The pilot, newly bandaged, had opted to walk back to the colony rather than getting a lift. Caution that probably isn’t unwarranted.

“No,” Root says. “That’s what _he_ needed a doctor for.” The lights return to their normal, steady brightness, announcing their arrival. “Just thirty seconds after you left,” she announces in a voice that means Shaw is supposed to be impressed with her.

“You’d better not have landed in the bathroom again.”

“I didn’t,” Root says. “Well, I don’t think I did. It’s hard to be precise. You left your scrubs,” Root adds, as Shaw heads for the doors.

Shaw shrugs. “I’ll just grab them next time.”


End file.
